Leo had been "studying" for three hours, which was really just a cover for watching Ally navigate the stacks. She didn’t just walk; she moved with a quiet, frantic energy, her fingers trailing over book spines as if she were searching for a secret door. She was a journalism major with a reputation for asking questions that made professors sweat and a laugh that sounded like wind chimes in a gale. He was hopelessly, quietly in love with her.

"You’ve been on page forty-two since I got here," a voice whispered.

The playfulness vanished. The silence of the archives pressed in on them. Leo could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. "Ally," he breathed.

The air in the library always smelled like old paper and vanilla, but whenever Ally Barker walked in, it shifted to something sharper—like ozone before a storm.

As the sun began to bleed through the high, stained-glass windows, they walked out into the morning air—exhausted, ink-smudged, and finally, undeniably, together.

"I know, Leo," she said softly, her hand finding his in the dark. Her skin was warm, grounding him. "I’ve been waiting for you to get off page forty-two for a long time."

Leo jumped, his highlighter leaving a neon yellow streak across his textbook. Ally was leaning over the table, her dark hair falling forward, eyes bright with mischief. "I’m... absorbing the material," Leo stammered.

"‘And then,’" she whispered, stepping closer to him in the narrow aisle, "‘the hero realizes the treasure was never the gold, but the girl with the ink-stained fingers.’"